


Make Sure You Call Before You Leave

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Community: kink_bingo, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:33:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik happens to Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Sure You Call Before You Leave

Charles wanders into the kitchen and he's at the fridge, drinking milk right out of the carton. _Charles'_ milk. "Excuse me, but you're - that's mine."

The man turns. "Charles, right," he says, and looks Charles up and down, gaze sharp and assessing. Charles tugs his shirt down further over his belly. "I'm Eric."

"Eric? Oh, Erik."

"Yes, the wayward brother come home to roost. Well, for a while at least. Would you like a drink, Charles?"

"Well I would," Charles says, waving at the carton, still in Erik's hand. "But you've kind of ruined it."

"Right, sorry," Erik says, not sounding sorry at all. "I haven't touched the juice, you can have that if you want."

*

"You didn't tell me your brother was so, uh," Charles says.

"What?" Thomas says, not looking up.

"I could have used some warning that he was coming at least."

"Sorry." Thomas finally seems to start paying attention to the conversation. He wraps his arms around Charles' waist, pulls him close. "Erik's - well, Erik. He'll come and go as he pleases, leave a path of destruction in his wake. But he's still my brother."

"So we have to put up with him? In my house?"

"I hope you don't mind. He told me he needed a place to crash. It'll only be for a while, I promise. But if you want him to leave, just tell me."

Charles closes his eyes, sighs. "No, that's fine. Let him stay. It'd be rude to do otherwise."

*

"So, you and my brother, huh." Charles is trying to study, but Erik throws himself easily into the chair next to his, half naked as usual, and starts talking as if Charles will willingly entertain him just because he wants it. Perhaps if he just ignored him and continued writing.

No such luck. "See, my brother told me he was shacked up with this guy named Charles, and I thought, what kind of a name is Charles." He reaches over Charles' arm and grabs Charles' bag of chips.

"Yes, please Erik, you're welcome to my chips."

Erik stops stuffing them into his mouth long enough to mutter, "What the fuck are these things?"

"They're cassava chips. Better than -" He puts his pen down, there's not much point in pretending he's studying anymore. "Potato chips aren't the healthiest of snacks."

"They're disgusting, is what they are."

Charles grabs the bag away from him. "No-one's forcing you to eat them."

"So you really are a Charles, then. Like I said, my brother mentioned your name, and I thought, that's the name of a boy with thick glasses who got beat up a lot in high school. Then I saw you that morning, and I thought, that's the face of a boy who made all the other boys wish he had his lips wrapped around their cocks." He tilts his head. "Even the straight ones."

"Is that what you are? Straight?"

"I'm," Erik leans back into his chair and stretches, and his eyes are hooded and unreadable, even as his smirk makes Charles want to commit an act of violence. "I'm an opportunist."

"Well then." Charles snaps his book shut and stands up abruptly. "Your brother will be home soon, and I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Erik."

He doesn't look back as he walks up the stairs to the bedroom, but he can feel Erik's eyes on him, and as he reaches the top of the stairs he can hear laughter, low and amused.

*

"It's just he's a bit intense, that's all." Thomas looks contemplative, and Charles thinks: they look nothing at all alike. Thomas has soft features and soft hands, and his idea of dangerous living is wearing the blue overcoat with the green tie. In contrast, everything about Erik is _hard_ , from his clothes to the way he walks to the way he's always observing, always on edge. "Are you sure you're related?"

"Yes, we are." Thomas' smile fades slightly, and Charles feels the faintest pang of guilt. "He had it harder than I did. It's complicated."

"It always is," Charles replies. He slides his hand onto Thomas' thigh, rubbing gently through the material of his pants. "It's fine, we'll make do. But if he ruins my GPA, there will be hell to pay."

"Look, let me handle him, okay? Trust me, he won't be keeping you up all night anymore."

Of course Erik chooses then to wander into the living room. His gaze falls on Charles' hand and his eyes narrow, ever so slightly. Charles removes it, ashamed and confused for no reason at all. Thomas doesn't seem to notice, he just grins widely at Erik and says, "Erik, we were just talking about you."

"About what?" Erik asks, his face wary.

"Well -"

"Nothing," Charles says hastily. Thomas shoots him a look, but Charles shakes his head. "Nothing at all."

*

Charles is trying to remember if he added the salt or not when Erik wanders into the kitchen. "And he cooks, too. If you were Jewish you'd be perfect. Our parents would be planning the wedding already."

"I was under the impression that I'd have to be Jewish and female to impress." He picks up a spoon and tries the sauce. Definitely not enough salt.

"That's only after they realized their elder son would turn out to be such a disappointment. Then they had to pin all their hopes on Thomas. I almost feel sorry for the kid." Erik lounges against the kitchen counter, his body language seemingly casual but the muscles in his shoulders are tense.

"I know a thing or two about managing your parents' expectations."

"No, I doubt you do."

Charles opens his mouth to to protest: you don't know my life, but that dies at the expression on Erik's face. "Could you pass me the salt, please," he says instead. "It's behind you," he adds.

Erik hands it to him silently. Charles adds the salt and tastes, adds some more. The fridge door opens, shuts. "I labeled it," Erik tells him when he looks up. "Mine, and yours."

"You could just use a glass."

Erik smiles. "But I like drinking it this way."

"Suit yourself."

"Oh," Erik says, pausing with the carton halfway to his mouth. "I forgot. Thomas called earlier when you were busy getting your Martha Stewart on. He's not going to be able to make it for dinner. Something about a late meeting with a student about her thesis."

Charles scowls. "That's the third time this week."

"Sorry," Erik says. "If it's any consolation though, you still have me."

"Well," Charles replies, trying to keep his voice light. "I made enough for three, so I hope you're hungry."

"Don't you have any other friends, Charles," Erik asks, when the plates are set and Erik is scooping steaming hot rice onto his plate as if he's not eaten in days. It's organic basmati, Charles wants to tell him spitefully, but Erik seems to be enjoying the food so much he can't bear to. Possibly he'll save that for later. "Well?"

"I have friends," Charles says evasively.

"I've been here a week and I see you more than I see my brother."

"Why are you here, anyway," Charles asks, desperate to change the subject from anything but his pitiful social life, which having a boyfriend apparently does not improve upon. "What is it that you do, exactly."

"This and that," Erik replies, and it's apparently his turn to be evasive. "I'm an independent contractor, of a sort." His tone turns low. "I'd take you out, Charles. If you were mine. I wouldn't let you sit home alone."

Charles says, "Eat your broccoli before it gets cold."

*

The girl's trying to run out the door, a shoe in one hand and backpack in another. "Hi," she says breathlessly, when she spots Charles seated at the kitchen counter. Erik saunters in after her, and she turns to grin broadly at him. "Sorry, I'm late. Eight am class. I am so screwed, my prof is gonna kill me." She gives Charles a distracted smile and then she's gone, in a swirl of hastily applied perfume and wrinkled clothes.

"I'm so glad to see you're choosing to be opportunistic in my home. And that's _my_ toast."

Erik smiles but he doesn't put the piece of toast down. "I just wanted to see if it was actual toast or possibly made from seaweed or yam."

"There is no such thing as seaweed or yam - it is organic and wholewheat, if it makes you happy to make assumptions about the type of person I am." He wants to snatch the toast from Erik's mouth, wants to say: I heard you, last night. Half the night. She made too much noise; you made too little.

"Charles," Erik tells him. "I would never presume to think anything of you." The toast lands back on Charles' plate, the edge curved with the shape of Erik's teeth.

Charles isn't hungry anymore. He pushes the plate away from him and says, "I'm late for class."

"Yours at eight as well?"

"Yes, sure." As he passes, Erik reaches out and brushes his fingers across the side of his lips.

"Crumbs," he says.

*

"You won't last," Erik says. He's on the floor of the living room, back against the couch, aimlessly racing through channels on the tv. Thomas is sleeping upstairs, begged a headache and disappeared almost as soon as he'd arrived back. "None of them do." He twists his head around and peers up at Charles, curled up on the couch reading a book. Or trying to, at least. He's been on the same page for the past fifteen minutes. It might have something to do with the two beers he's had, though. Erik's got more bottles on the table in front of him, but he doesn't even remotely seem drunk. "Every semester a new freshman. Funny how he gets older but you remain exactly the same age. I love my brother, I do. But."

"Interesting," Charles says, looking up, but not directly at Erik. "How you say you love your brother, and yet you're telling me what an awful serial monogamist he is."

"Please, tell me that the two of you are in love so I can start laughing. I haven't had a good laugh in a while."

Charles finally turns to glare at him. "You're impossible," he says, trying, and failing, to hold on to the glare.

"So I've been told." The expression on his face turns serious, strange and intense. "He's never been with someone like you, though. It might work out yet."

"Thank you," Charles replies dryly. "For the vote of confidence."

"Come sit down next to me." He pats the floor gently.

"No. It's more comfortable on the couch."

"Fine, I guess I'll come up then." Charles moves his feet so that Erik can have more room, but when Erik sits down his fingers circle around one of Charles' ankles and he ends up half sprawled in Erik's lap.

"Erik, what are you," but he can't think anymore, not for the way Erik's thumb is skittering across his bare skin. He sits up, and Erik kisses him. Hard, and sudden, and Charles says _stop_ , but it's lost in Erik's tongue sliding into his mouth, and comes out much more like a moan. Erik pushes Charles back down onto the couch and reaches for his pants. He tugs and drags impatiently and Charles wants to help, but instead he just lets his hands flop to his sides and tries not to get in the way.

Not until Erik wraps a hand around his cock, and Charles hadn't even truly been aware that he was hard, but now he feels it. "Oh," he says. There's a strange light in Erik's eyes as he positions Charles' legs on either side of him, as he struggles with his own belt and zipper. There's a moment, he looks around, but then he just holds out his hand under Charles' mouth. Charles spits obediently and Erik smiles, kisses Charles again after he slicks himself up. Charles barely feels it at first, Erik's fingers and then the tip of his cock, but then he shoves in for real and oh god, oh _god_.

He grips at Erik's shoulders, trying to find purchase on his t-shirt, and Erik moans desperately and kisses him one more time, his fingers tight on Charles' hips. "Does my brother fuck you like this," he says, barely audible but demanding, harsh. "Is his cock as big as mine? Does he -" he shoves himself deeper in, and Charles keens, arches his back. Erik covers his mouth with his hand, and Charles thinks, remembers, Thomas is sleeping upstairs, Thomas could come down any time and see them like this, Thomas is - and then Erik is raising himself up a little and wrapping his fingers around Charles' cock, and Charles isn't thinking of Thomas anymore.

"Come for me, baby," Erik says, and Charles does.

*

"You can't tell him," Erik says afterwards.

"I wouldn't -"

"No, yes. He's still my brother." He rubs his face wearily and hands Charles back his pants. Charles stares at them for a while before he remembers what he's supposed to do with them. "I should go."

"Okay."

*

"So guess who's gone," Thomas says, when Charles returns back from class. "Left a note for me this morning. It's better than the way he left last time, I guess."

"How did he - uh." Charles drops his backpack onto the living room floor. "Why."

Thomas shrugs. "It's what he does. I'm sorry you had to put up with him for so long. But hey, our life can return back to normal now."

"Yeah," Charles replies, and tries to fix a smile to his face. "I guess it can."

**Author's Note:**

> For the **teasing** square, and also [this prompt](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/6527.html?thread=10769535).
> 
> [ ](http://whateverish.org/stuff/pics/fishtank_fanart-by-Normaniac.jpg)
> 
> Amazing artwork graciously provided by Normaniac. Thank you so much!


End file.
